


Vienna

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander (Movies), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: By chance Methos encounters a friend ... and an enemy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Vienna

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, I do not intend to infringing of anybody's rights, least of all the owners' of the Highlander franchise and universe. Naturally, I do not make money off this or anything of the kind, and I do strive to remain faithful to the known canon.

_Vienna, December of 2019_  
  


When a popstar comes to Vienna, they will usually book a spectacular suite in one of the obvious hotels along the Ring boulevard, where they are easy prey to press and fans alike. On other occasions, however, when they travel incognito, they prefer nobly quiet top-notch establishments a little further removed from downtown Vienna. The Belgravia was one of them.

Methos was just emerging from the Belgravia through the servants’ entrance, when he heard a surprised voice exclaim in English with a mild Austrian accent, “Uh…? Hi! What brings _you_ here after all these years?!”

Turning around, Methos found brown eyes trained at him. Eyes above a mouth curled in a warm smile. Those features were vaguely familiar, but the spark of recognition refused to illuminate a full memory just yet, so he replied cautiously, “Fancy meeting you here! I’ve only just arrived this week.” In fact, he just came from his third job interview, and this one seemed to have been successful. He’d be an old-fashioned porter for a change.

“So it _is_ you,” the other man grinned smugly. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, that was 20 years ago or more. How can you still look the same?”

Without missing a beat, Methos retorted, “Plastic surgery.” There. Here was one thing, at least, that modern times had made easier, in exchange for a multitude of things they had made more difficult for Immortals. Meanwhile, his friend was nodding sagely. Methos watched him, trying to mentally take off two decades. A second or two later, the memory sprang up in its full glory.

Well, some of it, anyway. He remembered a prolonged stop-over in Vienna during a journey through Europe in the service of the Watchers. “Definitely more than twenty years,” Methos commented at length. They had not originally met here in Vienna, but in Japan. At that time they had both eaten at the same bar, and each being without company, they had drifted into a conversation. They both had been in a companionable mood and liked to laugh. Under the circumstances, it was enough basis for a friendship, and many a pleasant evening and conversations on a wide range of topics had followed. Their friendship had grown deeper over time, albeit soon reduced to being pen-penpals.

Unfortunately, at some point a prowling Immortal had obliged Methos to take a sudden trip to an inviting tropical destination. Things had been left behind or lost. He still remembered his dismay.

“I’m glad we’ve met again,” he therefore added. “Had to relocate on short notice and lost your address.” He grinned wryly. “Forwarding didn’t work, either. You know how it is.” He gave a tiny apologetic smile.

“Yeah,” his long-lost friend rejoined. “More than twenty… Yes, must be more. I can feel it.” He briefly changed his posture and motions to those of a very old man resting his weight on an invisible cane. He winked as he straightened up. “But we’re both still fit, so… How about that rematch you still owe me?”

The sly dog! Damn his attentive eyes! He had always noticed more than the average guy did. Yes, they had sparred once, and the mortal’s skill had been enough of a challenge, his personality enough of a mischievous allure, and his style had provided enough little surprises that Methos had betrayed more of his own acumen than he had intended. He had avoided repeating this mistake by feigning an injury upon their next encounter.

But now…? Maybe now it would be easier to stay firm and play the less experienced and above all less deadly role he displayed to mortals. After all, mortals aged. Their joints stiffened, they lost speed and strength. On the other hand, they also learned, grew wiser, more experienced and often also fiercer.

It was Methos’ turn to grin slyly. “I got lucky last time. Why would I give you the chance to beat the crap out of me this time?”

“Lucky?” the mortal repeated dryly. “Do I look stupid?”

Methos lowered his gaze and shook his head minutely. “Look, why don’t we just go for a beer?”

His friend looked at his watch and nodded. “Lead the way, then.”

They were just entering a quiet alley, already deep in conversation, when Methos felt an Immortal presence crawl over him and send a warning rushing through his veins. He cursed softly, then muttered, “Damn it. Look, I may be challenged by a stranger in a few seconds. If that happens, go away, I _implore_ you.”

He got no answer, but when further down the narrow alley a wiry man stepped into the street and raised a weapon, the mortal moved backwards and out of Methos’ sight.

He walked on, drawing his own sword. “This is not the place or the time,” Methos called to the stranger as they both advanced. “People might” – he hesitated almost imperceptibly – “get hurt.”

“People have got hurt before,” the other Immortal sneered. Now that he was getting a better view of his features, Methos was sure he had seen him in the Watcher files. A Russian, Ferapont by name. A hunting sort of Immortal, but not one to seek out spectacular prey, so most likely he had no idea what he was up against.

“Don’t underestimate mortal man. Someone might be calling the police behind these windows at this very moment. This is not a good place, no matter how deserted it looks.” Methos poured his personal intensity into the words, stern and authoritative.

Ferapont wavered, then cursed. “Fine, you coward. I know a deserted factory in the thirteenth district. Take the U3 subway to the end station. I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t bring any mortals.” He stalked off.

Methos breathed again and looked around cautiously. Nothing moved, so his friend had … Wait. A white smudge in a dark entrance moved. No, his friend had not cleared out, after all. Apparently he had only put some distance between the Immortals and himself, and had watched. Now he stepped completely out of the shadows and just stood there.

Methos went over to him and found himself greeted with the query, “So that is how you were injured back then?”

Instead of an answer, Methos inquired, “Weren’t we going to have a beer?”

They found a pub, ordered their drinks and sat in silence for a while. Then Methos took a coaster and scribbled on it. He handed it over and said, “I hope you can read it. Don’t want to lose contact again.”

The slender mortal took the coaster, read the email address there and ripped the thing apart along the middle. He pocketed the half with Methos’ address and wrote on the other one, which he pushed toward the Immortal.

Methos took and read “n@igma.it”. He raised his eyebrows. “An Italian address?”

“Just for safety.”

Methos nodded. Clearly he was not the only one who could keep a secret. “You are a man after my own heart,” he said sincerely, only to add with a rakish grin: “It’s a pity we’re not gay. We’d have so much fun if we were.” They laughed, glad to release the tension any old how. After that it was mostly silly puns and foolishness, but the old lightness was gone. It hadn’t been enough.

Well, they still had time. The Game would get in the way again, sooner or later, but there was still a chance things would come right again. As long as one lived, there was always another chance.


End file.
